As the vans drove down the Andersonstown Road Craig made up his mind. They’d leaned on Jack’s hospitality too much recently so he directed the caravan towards Stranmillis Road Station where the saturnine Sergeant John Maguire met them at the door. He would have said welcomed, but he wasn’t sure that a frown and a “Why me?” counted as a welcome in anyone’s book.
“Sorry, John. Needs must and Jack Harris can’t always catch it.” Craig walked past him into reception. “How many cells have you got?”
“Eight. How many prisoners?”
“Seven, so we’re in luck.” He handed the station sergeant a list. “Just do the usual and then leave them to stew overnight. I don’t want any phone calls made, so Liam’s got their mobiles for your safe and your landline’s mysteriously broken. OK?”
Maguire shook his head firmly. “Oh, no, you don’t. I’m not lying so they get denied their calls.”
Craig’s response was to nod and then immediately walk outside. Five minutes later he returned with a pair of pliers and some wire in his hand. “Now you won’t have to lie.”
While Maguire grabbed his desk phone and gawped as he got a dead line, Craig searched round for his deputy.
“Liam, have you got those mobiles?”
“Aye.”
Liam propped the man he’d been dragging against the reception desk and opened his suit jacket to reveal the phones. He wouldn’t have looked out of place on a market stall.
Craig decided to give Maguire another chance, even though he already knew his answer.
“Would you rather not lock the mobiles in your safe, sergeant? By that I mean, will you feel the need to hand them back to the prisoners to make their phone calls as soon as we leave?”
John Maguire gave an emphatic nod. “I most certainly will.” It was accompanied by a chastising stare that would have done a missionary proud. Craig was getting bored with the man’s moralising so he decided to enlighten him on the dilemma that they faced that night.
“So you would allow them to phone their troops, who would then go and beat the crap out of the men that this bunch were on the way to do over themselves before we stopped them?”
The dark-eyed sergeant was taken aback but not quite gobsmacked so Craig pushed on.
“You have here seven senior members of The Rock, one of Belfast’s most successful gangs. If you don’t believe me check their tattoos. We believe that they held a summit this evening and left with instructions to beat information out of any unfortunate low-life they could find.” He dropped a brass knuckle duster on the desk. “This and a selection of knives, bats and straps were found in their cars. So do you still intend to give them their phones?”
“I…but…the problem is…”
Craig voted with his feet, a big part of him knowing that what he’d asked the man to do wasn’t fair. If anyone got heat for this it should be him.
“Let’s go, Liam. We’ll hold onto the mobiles. You can let this bunch go tomorrow, Sergeant. We’ll leave Sergeant Rice and his lads with you to help keep them in line.”
The detectives were at their cars before Maguire had recovered his voice. When he did he overcompensated for his correct but unsupportive behaviour by shouting loudly at his guests for the rest of the night.
Craig leaned on the roof of his car and yawned loudly. “Let’s call it a night, Liam. If I don’t get some sleep I’ll be useless tomorrow.” As he climbed into his Audi he already knew he wouldn’t sleep a wink. They might have stopped some mischief but they couldn’t police the whole of Belfast; the night provided too much cover.
Elsewhere in Belfast he was about to be proved right.
****
The Pit Nightclub. May Street, Belfast. 11 p.m.
All cities have two faces; one fit for the full glare of daylight and one that is only ever shown after dark, and they are as different as Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf. While daylight people might dip their toes into the dark occasionally, they never inhabit it with the ease of those for whom it is their natural habitat. Ditto with the people of the night. There is however one place where they meet in relative safety, and that is the world of casinos and nightclubs.
Zac Greer didn’t gamble so casinos held no interest for him, but nightclubs were his natural milieu. Throbbing, strobing, pulsing; a shifting human river that he immersed himself in each weekend. Out of his head or off his face, whichever euphemism you prefer, he still listened to talk and made contacts, especially when he was buying his drugs. Tonight he would buy his weed with a different purpose in mind, and, as he worked his way around the edge of the throbbing dancefloor, he purchased information with each bag. But clubs are dark so the youth didn’t see the man watching him, and as he left each dealer, variously frustrated, an angry signal removed them from the floor and into a small back room.
The watcher joined the small group, letting its members lie and beg and spit excuses, until after five minutes he held up a hand bearing a gun. It had a sobering effect. He motioned to his men, stationed behind each of the dealers, and they pushed them forward one by one.
“I want know what boy asked you, and your answer.” The gun brushed each face in turn. “Don’t waste my time with a lie.”
The approach ensured obedience, and as the last but one dealer gabbled out his answer and was ejected the watcher knew that he finally had the truth. The boy had only got one truthful answer to his questions and both he and the squealing dealer would be dealt with later. Right now there was someone else who needed to know.
****
The C.C.U. Monday. 8.30 a.m.
Craig had surprised himself by sleeping through the night, although his aching muscles when he’d woken had confirmed it was more the slump of exhaustion than sleep of any depth. He would take whatever he could get; at least it had pushed the murders, budgets and Katy from his head for a few hours, although as soon as his eyes had opened he’d been hit by all of them again, plus a few additional things.
As the others filtered into the squad-room he poured a coffee and started to regret his baking ban. In the absence of breakfast he could do with a sugar hit. Nicky read his mind and ushered him into his office, nodding him to sit. She returned to her desk and reappeared a moment later with an old Scottish shortbread tin. As soon as he saw it Craig grinned.
“Nicky, you’re a lifesaver. I’d love a biscuit, if you have one.”
She pulled off the lid with a flourish. “Better than a biscuit; it’s one of my coffee muffins. Fresh today.”
He nodded ruefully; she’d ignored his ban. But at least she was keeping it on the down low and, as all he’d really wanted was an end to the debilitating competition between her and Rhonda, he decided that he couldn’t really complain.
Just then Liam arrived. He spotted Craig’s muffin and reached his fingers into the tin, only to almost have them amputated as Nicky slammed the lid.
“Ow! How come he gets a bun and I don’t?”
She clasped the tin firmly to her chest. “He asked.”
“OK, if I ask can I have one?”
“No. You’re only being polite because I told you to.”
Craig solved the dilemma like Solomon and tore his cake in half, shrugging apologetically at his P.A. “Sorry, but it’s the only way to stop him moaning.”
She flounced out, disgusted, and he nodded his deputy to close the door, turning to business.
“OK, we may have stopped Rey last night but we can’t afford the men to watch him constantly. Any suggestions?”
Liam pushed the cake into his mouth and began to talk. “Theff ffthing is-”
Craig held up a hand, halting him mid crumb-spray. “Don’t say another word until you’ve swallowed that.” He brushed the debris into the bin and waited for the gulp.
“Sorry, boss. I forgot it was in there.”
It was probably true.
“OK…What I said was, the only way we can stop Rey organising them again is to lock him up, so I suggest we do that.”
Craig shook his head. “We can’t. The media would have a field day. Grieving father incarcerated, blah, blah, blah.”
Liam thought for a moment and then gave a smile. “OK, then. Let’s threaten him with being locked up if he tries it again, with a man tailing him very obviously so that he knows it’s true.”
Craig hemmed and hawed before nodding. “It’ll have to do. Call Stranmillis and tell them they can let the others go this evening. Twenty-four hours lock-up should make them think, and get Joe to inform them it’ll happen again if we see them up to anything. He can choose Rey’s tail.”
He took a sip of coffee and moved on to other things. “OK. Andy. Anything from the lab?”
Liam’s response was to open the door but Craig shook his head instantly.
“They don’t know about Andy.”
“Davy does.” He beckoned the analyst in.
“Sit down, Davy. What have you got for us?”
“Info from the lab, chief, and we’ve got some camera s…stuff as well. There’s CCTV from where Matias Rey went into the river; a man leading him to the w…water from an old fashioned car. Unfortunately it was too dark to see the make.”
Craig’s face fell but the analyst went on.
“The good news is that we got a blurry s…shot of its reg plate and Doctor Marsham’s trying to clean that up now.”
Liam grinned. “Well done, lad. If we get a reg we might get a name.”
“The man got out of the left hand side, so it looks as if the car is from abroad.”
Left hand drive; it went with the idea that Albanians might be involved. If they were they weren’t trying very hard to hide it, and any optimism Craig felt was dampened by the thought that the plate was probably false.
“Anything more on I.D.ing the girl in the sketch? Or on the names Annette got from the brothel?”
Davy nodded. “I sent the sketch to Doctor W…Winter and he confirmed it’s his dead girl.” He frowned quizzically. “Does that mean that whoever killed her killed Matias Rey as well?”
Liam shook his head. “Organised them both. Andy didn’t kill Rey.”
Craig was indignant. “That makes it sound like he killed the girl!”
“Ach, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”
Davy pushed on. He had work to do and it wasn’t getting done sitting there.
“OK, well, that means the girl who distracted Matias Rey’s friend Niall is dead. S…She doesn’t match any of Annette’s escorts so far, but we’ve only got photos for the first three so I’ll keep on it. The other thing is that I checked Matias’ mobile. He called his dad’s taxi office on Wednesday morning at one-o-five and someone answered, but there’s no record of a cab being sent to pick him up.”
The detectives frowned simultaneously but Liam was the first to speak. “What are the odds that the taxi driver that drove the three of them to the club might’ve pre-arranged to collect them, so when he answered the phone in the office hours later he just didn’t bother logging the call?”
Craig shook his head. “Slim. No driver could deal with driving jobs and taking constant calls. And why would he have been in the office anyway? He’d have been out driving fares. Check it with the boys anyway, Davy, but I’m pretty sure the answer will be no.”
Liam nodded. “Aye, you’re right. They couldn’t have known what time they were leaving and Matias would’ve just called the cabbie directly instead of ringing the office.”
Craig went on. “There might be something else here. Davy, I want to know who was on the cab office phones that night. If our man had diverted the phones and was answering every call waiting for Matias to phone, it’s unlikely any other cabs at all were dispatched that night-”
Davy frowned. “How do you make that out?”
Craig gestured at his desk phone. “OK, just say I divert this line to my mobile and you call asking for a cab. If I’m waiting for one particular call, am I really going to bother passing your request back to the office?”
“You might radio another cabbie with the job.”
Craig shrugged. “I might, but it’s unlikely.”
Liam jumped in. “OK. So worst case scenario the other drivers were having jobs passed onto them by the driver waiting for Matias’ call, or no calls were passed on that night at all. Wouldn’t someone have queried the lack of work that night, or wondered why things weren’t coming from the office?”
He glanced at Craig, waiting to be interrupted, but he nodded him on instead.
“So if the calls were diverted to our crooked driver, someone would’ve twigged, either from the lack of work or from his voice on the end of the line giving them jobs. We need to ask if that happened, and if it didn’t then that means whoever was manning the office phones that night was in on Matias’ abduction as well. When Matias called he was sent our Euro cab, driven by his killer, instead of one of the firm’s own cars.”
Davy thought about it for a moment.
“W…Why would Matias have got into a cab without a logo he recognised? His dad’s cabs are all blue and white, not dark s…saloons.”
“Forced in.”
It was an untidy explanation and the analyst said as much.
“But then why didn’t our European just get a job with Rey’s firm? He could have driven the lads out for the night, then w…waited for the call, picked Matias up in one of the pool cars and then handed him off to the Euro car.”
Craig shook his head. “It’s a small, local firm. Why would Xavier Rey suddenly hire someone new? No, our best bet is some combination of what you and Liam just said. Check it out, please.” He took a gulp of coffee before restarting. “OK. What have you got on Andy’s situation?”
The analyst made a face. “There were no prints on the s…safe-”
Liam cut in. “They wore gloves.”
“Maybe. Carry on, Davy.”
“The murder weapon was definitely Andy’s Glock -”
This time Craig interrupted. “Easily done if they got it from the safe.”
“It was still in the safe when the police arrived.”
Liam nodded triumphantly. “Well, there you go then. They took Andy’s Glock from his safe, killed the girl and then put it back. There’s no way he could have done all that if he was in the K-hole.”
Craig’s expression said perhaps but he waited for Davy to continue. “That’s all we’ve got so far, boss. The splatter pattern says s…she was definitely killed at Andy’s place and we’re still waiting for all the CCTV.” He looked embarrassed suddenly. “I don’t know if this will be any comfort to Andy, but there was no s…sign that they’d had sex.”
Craig glanced quickly at Liam, as much to stop an impending wisecrack as to say that the fact was significant.
“OK, thanks, Davy. Let me know as soon as you get anything more.” When the analyst had left Liam spoke.
“You can stop looking so prim. I wasn’t going to say anything rude about sex. Even I draw the line at jokes about a dead girl. What I was going to say was that it made sense. If Andy was in the K-Hole he couldn’t have moved never mind had sex.”
Craig sat back, steepling his fingers. “The question is… how much Ketamine was enough to put him there and can we prove it? What would put one man in the K-Hole mightn’t touch another one.”
Liam helped himself to coffee as he answered. “Very little in Andy’s case, would be my bet. He’s only ten stone dripping wet.”
Craig’s response was to walk out to Davy’s desk. He scribbled down ‘Ketamine, K-hole, dosage per stone and barman?’ and handed him the note. He re-entered his office just in time to see Liam devouring the rest of his muffin so he begged a fresh one from Nicky and retook his seat.
“OK, we know Gerry Delaney has disappeared, but if there was someone else involved in Rey’s cab firm hopefully we can get something from them, if they haven’t skipped as well of course. And if Andy’s dead girl turns out to be the escort hired by Fox, that links the Rey and Fox cases definitively, and gives us s
ome evidence that Andy was framed.”
Liam raised an eyebrow. “You’re doubting it?”
Craig sighed. “I don’t doubt Andy at all. But unless we find forensic proof that someone else shot the girl then proving he was framed to distract us might be our only hope of getting him off.”
****
Gardaí Station. County Louth, Republic of Ireland. 12 p.m.
Annette could barely speak for anger. They’d driven two hours across the border to Monaghan to watch a tank being excavated from a field that apparently belonged to no-one, and now they were in Magnus O’Shea’s office asking questions that he was answering with a shrug, and “we’ve nothing on the girl in our systems, so she mustn’t have come from here.” They should have just saved themselves the trip.
The Garda added for good measure. “I did say that she’d probably doubled back into the north.”
He did, but Annette thought he could have had the decency to look a bit sorrier about it. Jake saw her approaching apoplexy and interjected, trying to help.
“When you say the field doesn’t belong to anyone, Inspector… What exactly does that mean?”
O’Shea looked bemused. He might be a native Irish speaker but even he was certain of the English he’d just used. He decided that a visual aid might assist the Belfast detectives and clambered out of his chair to lift a large binder down from a shelf. He set it in front of Jake and opened it at the relevant page.
“All the land in Ireland is registered, except for what’s called common land. Like the field.”
The Tribes Page 29